Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
AND
OTHER POEMS.
BY
JARED BARHITE,
Principal of Third Ward Grammar School,
Long Island City, N. Y.
PUBLISHED BY
,
BARHITE
E.
WILLIAM
270 Freeman Avenue, Long Island City, N. Y.
1895.
COPYRIGHT, 1895.
PRESS OF
WEISEL, MEIER & WITTE,
109 NASSAU ST., N. Y.
PREFACE.
During the past quarter of a century, it has been a pleasant pastime for me to obey the dictates of my feelings
and inscribe them upon paper.
The present volume is a collection of these vagrant pastimes, some of which have wandered far, while others
have never before appeared to any eye save the writer's.
To call them home, introduce them to each other, and properly house them, seems a parental duty.
If in them there is a thought that shall inspire others of my profession to feel the dignity and responsibility of
the calling, their publication will not have been in vain.
The Author.
DEDICATION.
TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, WHOSE DEVOTION, ENERGY, AND
PERSEVERANCE LED ME TO DRINK AT THE FOUNTAIN OF
KNOWLEDGE AND TRUTH, UNTIL I SAW BEAUTY THEREIN,
THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
INDEX.
PAGE.
A Beacon Light 129
A Boy 81
A Lesson from Nature 189
All Things are Second-handed 212
Alone 140
Amityville 215
An Open Book 175
A Picture 200
Arbor Day Tribute 84
Artist Nature 119
Boding Snow 174
Buttercups and Daisies 87
Communion with Nature 96
Courage and Faith 26
Discontent 132
Drifting Away 158
Duty Done 42
Ere and at my Call 173
Evil Habits 56
Faces I Read 214
Fact versus Form 29
PREFACE. 2
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Fidelity 219
Finis 231
Fragments 127
Good Habits 53
Heartstrings 147
Important Moments 166
Incompetence 27
Indulgence 61
Interest 31
Invocation to the Muse 9
Kindred Spirits 160
Lake George, N. Y. 106
Liberty 154
Lies 145
Life's Emergencies 58
"Lo," The Departed 157
Love 142
Many 40
Maple at my Father's Door 115
Memory 130
Memory and Reason 32
Mind Awakened 71
Mirrors 39
Morning Flowers 118
Mountain Brook 99
Music 120
My Brother's Birthday 196
My Choice 76
My Mother's Love 192
My Room in Boyhood's Days 202
Nature's Child 105
Nature's Voice 204
Needs and Powers 19
INDEX. 3
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Oceanus' Mirrors 116
On Brooklyn Bridge 183
Our Battlefield 49
Our Politics 134
Our Profession 11
Perhaps 165
Pious Pie Poem Puns 218
Poundridge, N. Y. 205
Rest 123
Retrospection 138
Robin Redbreast 110
Rye 95
School Days 162
Selfishness 137
Some Characters I Can't Admire 180
Some Characters I Much Adore 177
Soul Speaks to Soul 48
Strand Despair 60
Success 125
Sunset 135
Survival of the Fittest 66
The Dandelion 90
The Desirable Undefined 34
The Difference 67
The Evening before my Brother's Fifty-third Birthday 194
The Farmer 112
The Flowers I Love 91
The Fringed Gentian 89
The Future 170
The Goldenrod 86
The Hair 152
Their Life is what they Make It 185
The Lone Bird 187
INDEX. 4
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
The Morning Glory 94
The Ogre 72
The Old Farm 114
The Requirements of the Hour 80
The Rose 85
The Second Sunday in May 104
The Senses 44
The Stream's Story 102
The Teacher's Soliloquy 63
The Thrush 108
The Tree of State 82
The Unwritten Letter 210
The Voice 198
Tim 208
To a Mountain Brook 101
To My Daughter Blanche in Heaven 197
Trailing Arbutus 93
True Wealth 217
Twilight Hour 150
Who Knows? 149
Who Shall Judge? 169
[Pg 9]
OUR PROFESSION.
There's an art in our profession,
Which cannot be wholly learned
From all books in our possession,
Though their leaves be deftly turned
Till the mind shall grasp the meaning
Of each truth they may contain,
Yet there remains a gleaning
Not a product of the brain.
One may know the truths of science
Till his mind may have full store,
Or may place some great reliance
On ancient and modern lore;
He may count the stars in heaven,
He may trace them in their course,
And from data that is given
OUR PROFESSION. 6
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
He may prove creation's source;
He may use the best of diction
To portray his studied thought;
He may draw from truth and fiction
All the charm with which they're fraught;
He may be a friend of Nature
And may understand her laws;
He may prove embryo creature
Has within itself a "cause";
He may fathom all creation
[Pg 12] And dwell among the stars,
Visit every land and nation
And return with honor's scars;
Yet he may lack a power,—
Occult to scientific truth—
Which is Heaven's richest dower
To the guides of ardent youth.
Though all these may give a polish
To the gem that lights the soul,
They are weak, useless, and foolish,
When they're taken for the whole
Of all the powers required
To entrance the youthful mind,
With a spirit so inspired
As to touch the eyes of blind
With a bright illumination
That shall prove itself to be
More than a corruscation
Of a short-lived ecstasy.
By intuition, children know
A heart that cares for them;
They recognize a friend or foe,
At instantaneous ken.
No mask can shield a fraud or fool,
E'en from a puerile mind;
It knows by rules not learned at school
The way true hearts to find.
An earnest love, unbounded, firm,—
[Pg 13] A God-gift from our birth—
By far outweighs the noblest charm
Can be acquired on earth.
Who has not drunk deep at the well
Of childhood's innocence,
Or thinks that he should ever dwell
At such an eminence,
That he can never bend to raise
And cheer a longing heart,
Will waste his precious hours and days,
And finally depart
Without such fruitage or reward
As ever should be given
OUR PROFESSION. 7
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
To him, who serves master or Lord,
And hopes for bliss in heaven.
Who sees no soul-buds here expand
To blossom by and by,
Hath fathomed not the great command
For which we live and die.
The State demands that every son
And daughter shall be free
From ignorance and vice which run
Toward crime and misery.
The future of our noble State
Dwells now in plastic form;
If she her past would emulate
And meet the coming storm
Of chaos, whose portentous wing
[Pg 14] Seems hovering not afar,
In every school-room we should sing
Of banner and of star
That gave the land to Liberty,
And with a bold huzza
Proclaim that he who would be free
Must honor right and law.
Who serves his State and fellow-man
And plies his skill at best,
Assists to carry out the plan
To make all truly blest;
He may not sit in marble hall
Where legislators meet,
Nor may he rear fine towers tall,
Or dwell in a retreat
Where monks and nuns with solemn prayer
Pour out their orison;
The test of faith is filial care,
And duty nobly done.
Minds let us mould, men may we rear,
For God, for State, for man,
Using the right without a fear
To mar the heaven-born plan.
The test of great didactic skill
Is not to train the few
Whose active genius, tact, and will
Are always plain to view;
But he who takes an inert mind,
[Pg 15] Housed in a sluggish frame,
And forms such man as God designed,
Deserves an honored name.
Like Sisyphus some ever roll
The same old round of things
Which dwarf the mind and starve the soul,
Until they long for wings
To fly from dull monotony,
OUR PROFESSION. 8
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Which carries in its train
That wreck of thought—Despondency—
Which preys on heart and brain.
The artist knows the colors best
That blend in harmony
With richest cloud-scenes, in the west,
That gild the sunset sky;
The minstrel knows what song to sing
To please the multitude;
His fingers deftly touch the strings
That yield response subdued
When weary soul would find relief
From sorrow's withering sigh,
Or when the heart is bowed with grief,
And tear-drops dew the eye;
But when the soul is full of joy,
How jubilant the strain
The tactful artist will employ
To please the heart and brain.
[Pg 16]
If those who toil in lowly spheres
Employ such artful ways
To charm the dull and listless ears
That such may sound their praise,
Why should the artist of the mind
Shrink from that noble aim
That seeks to elevate mankind,
And light a deathless flame!
Or why should he who shapes the lives
And destiny of man,
Be less exact than he who strives
From mercenary plan.
No instrument man ever made—
None ever can be found—
No matter when or where 'tis played,
Will yield so rich a sound
As that which falls from human tongue
When heart speaks unto heart,
Nor are its mysteries among
The hidden things of art;
A tyro on life's winding road
Reads understandingly
Each tone and word, each varied mode
The tongue and form portray.
Our heart's intents are from our looks
More plainly to be read,
Than thoughts expressed in printed books
Whose language oft seems dead,
[Pg 17] Because it lacks a living form—
A voiceless, dull decree
That of itself has little charm
OUR PROFESSION. 9
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
For youth's activity.
A potent charm of living light
Flows with resistless force,
Dispelling clouds of mental night
That meet its onward course,
When all the soul is centred in
The great and primal thought
That services which hearts would win,
With price can ne'er be bought.
Such service heaven alone repays
E'en though on earth 'tis done,
Its echoes last through endless days,
And dies but with the sun.
A mercenary soul must find
A more congenial field
Than that of training human mind
Wherein a soul's concealed,
If it would live out all the days
Allotted unto man,
And bask in all the genial rays
Revealed in God's great plan.
No lubrication of the nerves
Has ever yet been found,
For him who like a menial serves
Dull lesson's daily round;
[Pg 18] But gnawing friction, stern and gaunt,
Tears flesh and brain away,
While ghosts nocturnal ever haunt
A soul with fell dismay,
Whose mercenary greed has led
Itself into a snare
That counts by scores its strangled dead,
Its hundreds, in despair.
He doubly lives who can forget
Himself and his own ease,
While toiling patiently to set
New gems in crowns he sees,
That may adorn some other head
Than that he calls his own,
And animate the germs wide spread
In seeds already sown.
OUR PROFESSION. 10
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
INCOMPETENCE.
Sometimes our soul within us burns
To see dark Ignorance aspire
To move toward light a mind that yearns
For knowledge that may lift it higher
Upon the royal road of truth,
While every word and act and thought
Betrays an atmosphere so fraught
With lack of common sense and lore,
We plead for some almighty power
To save from such our precious youth.
No ray of truth can ever shine
To beautify and make divine
The heart and mind of anxious soul,
When doubts and fears have full control
Of him who knows he blindly leads.
If human minds and souls and hearts
May not command those who have arts
And power to waken, lead, inspire,
Then knowledge fails of her desire,
And Ignorance on Wisdom feeds.
[Pg 28]
Let science, art, didactic skill,
Be guided by unyielding will
Born in some earnest, patient one
Whose heart glows like the summer sun
And warms all by its ardent fire;
Whose interest is so intense
It readily itself imprints
Upon the tender minds of youths,
Precepts and scientific truths
Such as their yearning hearts desire.
Then there shall come a brighter day,
When darkness shall to light give way,
And Wisdom on her throne rejoice,
And speak with accent in her voice
That charms and cheers a hungry mind.
Then, students, beauty shall receive
Instead of ashes that deceive,
Their days and nights of earnest toil,
Their struggles by the midnight oil
Give recompense complete, refined.
[Pg 29]
INCOMPETENCE. 15
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
INTEREST.
Who has not seen the inert mind,
Bowed down and sore oppressed,
Start into life, and vigor find
At touch of interest
Some sympathetic soul has shown,
By look in kindness given,
Or word whose accent, cadence, tone,
Gave joy akin to heaven?
No emanation from the heart
Has greater power to win,
Than that which lays aside all art
And quietly steps in
To soothe through sympathy, the cares
And sorrows, one by one,
Of timorous soul who scarcely dares
Go forward all alone,
But needs some word of magic power
To give him life and zest,
Some animating heart-given dower
Whose wealth is interest.
Few, few there are who know the force
That dormant lies in many a brain,
Who trace inertia to its source
Or see how mind o'er mind may reign.
[Pg 32]
INTEREST. 17
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Who builds alone on Memory
Will find he lacks a needed force
To fire and set the spirit free,
And move him onward in the course
That tends to lead him by a way
Whose goal is sure, complete success,
But wanting such, can but display
Chaotic mass of nothingness.
[Pg 33]
Let Memory and Reason wed,
Their product then may fully know
The food on which great minds are fed,
The founts from which great actions flow;
Each holds its share of honored meed,
But each requires the other's aid
To stimulate the urgent need
By which great genius is displayed.
MIRRORS.
Some persons in mind are but mirrors
Reflecting what others have thought,
That make no original errors,
They are only able to quote.
You may ask their opinion on matters
That pertain to affairs of the day,
Their minds are but shreds and tatters
Of what all their neighbors say.
We respect the man who is careful
With others his mind to compare,
But who of himself is not fearful
His honest opinion to share
With men, when some public measure
Upon the State has been thrown,—
Who proves his mind a rich treasure
He uses and calls his own.
[Pg 40]
MANY.
Many a grand ambition
Had birth and died in a day,
From lack of vigorous nursing
To keep it from decay.
Many a hope has faded
And sunk in deepest despair,
Through lack of careful pruning
That fruitage it might bear.
Many a mind is ruined
And becomes chaotic mass,
Through want of systematic
Training in the class.
Many a song of sweetness
Has lost its harmony,
Because at its beginning
It had not the proper key.
Many a field most fertile
Bears vile and noxious weeds,
Through failure of the tiller
To sow some worthy seeds.
[Pg 41]
Many a flower of beauty
And sweetness blooms unseen,
MIRRORS. 21
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
And dies in its seclusion
On a bed of mossy green.
Better to have no talent,
No excellence to give,
Than permit vice to destroy
The talent we may have.
DUTY DONE.
A duty done is victory won,
E'en though in the doing,
Efforts may fail to bring avail
In lines we are pursuing.
Nothing is lost whate'er the cost,
When efforts made are noble,
Beyond the sky acts never die,
And honor's crown is double.
Right cannot fail, but must prevail,
If noble be the motive;
Heaven is nigher if we aspire
With hearts sincere and votive.
Much strength we gain when we maintain
A truth for truth's sake solely;
A mighty power guides effort's hour
And stamps its cause as holy.
If honest heart act well its part,
And ask the aid of heaven
Its feeblest word will be so heard
That succor will be given.
[Pg 43]
It matters not how low our lot
We rise by honest trial;
No effort made for needed aid
E'er met complete denial.
The soul expands when it demands
A right for self and others,
And darkest night has ray of light
For honest helpful brothers.
MANY. 22
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
A noble soul spurns the control
Would bind in servile fetters;
No chains can bind God-given mind
Inspired by love and letters.
An earnest will can ne'er be still
Though oft its hopes be baffled,
It will succeed though victims bleed
And die upon the scaffold.
Loud shout and sing, "Crown Effort King,"
And let the watchword be
This earnest prayer heard everywhere,
"God and Humanity."
A duty done is victory won,
For strength comes by the doing;
There's no retreat, there's no defeat,
If right we are pursuing.
[Pg 44]
THE SENSES.
THE EYE.
Some eyes are trained to scan large field
Till instantaneous glance may yield
A knowledge full and plenty;
While others keep a narrow ken
And view the ways of active men
With satisfaction scanty.
The optic nerve has power so keen,
That ev'ry object by it seen
Is stamped upon the brain;
But they of sluggish mental mold
No vivid photograph will hold,
And scarce a scene retain.
THE EAR
The tympanum with perfect drum
Hears not the sound when armies come
With clarion notes and song,
Unless its stimulated nerve
Has fully learned to humbly serve
In stations which belong
[Pg 45]
To those which God designed should live
For special duties, He might give
To move mankind along
Upon the road toward perfect man,
That He might thus reveal His plan,
And happiness prolong.
DUTY DONE. 23
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
THE TONGUE.
The power that lies in perfect speech
Dwells with the few who only reach
That art through toil and care;
A faulty tongue perverts the ear,
Destroys the sense, augments the fear,
And feeds on empty air.
A nation's destinies have hung
Upon the influence of a tongue
Whose magic eloquence
Has swayed the thoughts of men, whose word
Was mightier than the glittering sword
Of armies most immense.
THE HAND.
The manual touch when guided by
The magic power of sympathy
That animates the soul,
May lead to fields of cultured art
And cast an influence on the heart
May through all ages roll.
[Pg 46]
The canvass and the stone may speak
To more than Roman and to Greek
Though in a foreign land;
They show the might of cultured skill
Directed by an iron will
That guides a master's hand.
THE NOSE.
The perfumed fields of blooming May,
The evening scent of new-mown hay
Touch nerve olfactory,
And carry to the thoughtful brain
Loved memories of a long-past train
That once was full of glee.
Though flowers to-day are choice and rare,
In colors they may well compare
With richest hues we meet;
They lack the charm that gave them power
Since past is youth's entrancing hour
Their fragrance seems less sweet.
COMBINED INFLUENCE.
Five roads lead to the human brain
And through these roads all must obtain
The commerce of all lore;
No thought can enter mental port
Of any kind or any sort,
THE TONGUE. 24
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Of modern days or yore,
[Pg 47]
Except such as a tariff pays
To pass these honored, great highways
Which lead to eminence,
And follow closely every nerve
Which God designed should truly serve
Each mind of consequence.
COMBINED INFLUENCE. 25
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
OUR BATTLEFIELD.
[Written for an entertainment given by the Fife and Drum Corps (36 uniformed members) of the Third Ward
Grammar School of Long Island City, of which the writer is Principal.]
OUR BATTLEFIELD. 27
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
GOOD HABITS.
A silent force marks out the course
Of every man and woman,
No matter what may be the lot
Of creatures that are human,
The end attained is ever gained
By means so strange and hidden,
We call it luck, instead of pluck,
Or fate by fairies bidden.
The human eye cannot descry
All workings of the brain;
At silent night, it gains a might
Which bears a mental train
Whose lucid glow may thrones o'erthrow,
Or bid new nations rise,
May prove some plan whereby proud man
May ransack earth and skies.
Think not such power a fairy's dower,
Or influence from some star,
It did not spring from anything
Beyond what mortals are.
[Pg 54]
To man is given the keys of heaven
If they be rightly used;
No being born but must be shorn
If blessings are abused.
Keep well the trust! Guard it we must,
From in and outward foes,
Strength will be gained, might be attained
By efforts to oppose
The secret vice that doth entice
To ruin and despair;
But he who will hath power to kill
Such vice within its lair.
Let habits grand the life command
And Eden is regained;
No future bliss need surpass this
If habits are unstained.
Let smiling face your presence grace
And earth will smile on you,
Let from the tongue a song be sung,
Its echo will be true,
And sing again the same refrain
Upon the selfsame key,
Till airs elate, reverberate,
Heaven's sweetest minstrelsy.
[Pg 55]
If we extend a hand to friend
Who needs a brother's care,
GOOD HABITS. 28
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Though it may hold no purse of gold
The act he will revere.
Scarce do we know whence comes the glow
That duty done e'er gives,
Its altar-fire cannot expire—
Here and hereafter lives.
Such habits then, for gods and men,
Are but the means whereby
They may prepare to gain their share
To mansions in the sky.
Sing then a song, its notes prolong,
In praise of Habit's power;
Let custom be from evil free
And it will blessings shower.
[Pg 56]
EVIL HABITS.
How habit grows no one e'er knows,
And yet he is a giant
That has a will and subtle skill
That never yet was pliant.
'Tis very plain that he has slain
More than the sword and spear,
With wily art he charms the heart
And quells the greatest fear.
His artful eye is wondrous sly
And has bewitching glance,
Where'er he moves his victim loves
To see his powers advance.
He makes no noise 'mong girls and boys
Whom he would call his own,
His spell is cast, he holds them fast
Till they are overthrown.
When this is done the field is won,
And they are all his own,
He heeds no cry, no choking sigh,
No plea, no prayer, no groan.
[Pg 57]
If you would be forever free
From tyrant so severe,
Watch every thought before you're caught,
For he is hovering near.
Your every word guard with the sword
Of truth, which never fails,
Its honor's sung in every tongue,
Its power e'er prevails.
Act well your part, and keep your heart
Free from the tares he sows,
For at the end like traitor friend
EVIL HABITS. 29
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
He leaves you with your woes.
Thus Habit mars with wounds and scars
The favored of our race,
Transforms the mind that God designed
Should be the dwelling place
Of noble thought with heaven fraught
Into a sterile plain,
Whose atmosphere is dank and drear—
A wild chaotic brain.
Man scarce may be entirely free
From wiles and tricks and snares,
Whose stealthy forms and subtle charms
Approach us unawares.
[Pg 58]
Our eyes are blind or not inclined
To see that powerful hand,
That silently, yet forcibly
Gives us its strong command.
LIFE'S EMERGENCIES.
How strangely dark are the vapors
That sometimes obscure the way,
Ere the light of truth advances
To the noon of a perfect day.
As the unforeseen approaches
In stealth from ambushed retreat,
The mettle of soul is summoned
Its emergencies to meet.
To shrink by its sudden coming,
To surrender our control
Without a struggle for vantage,
Betrays a weakness of soul.
The conflicts with emergencies
We meet in our daily call,
Give strength or death to moral worth
As we conquer them or fall.
[Pg 59]
To meet at once with valor true
The attack from an ambuscade,
In moral strife, or bloody war,
Hath many a hero made.
Who has not trained himself to meet
The vicissitudes that arise
Upon the course of life's stern race,
Must fail to secure its prize.
LIFE'S EMERGENCIES. 30
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Is not a just conclusion;
But Truth demands that Hope shall wear
No false rose in her silken hair,
To hide Deceit, Fraud, and Despair,
That feed on wild Delusion.
[Pg 60]
STRAND DESPAIR.
The wrecks that lie on Strand Despair,
Should serve as buoys on life's stern seas
To guide the voyager safely, where
He may escape the tides and breeze
That drive to whirlpools, bars, and rocks,
Where human vessels oft impinge
And leave a ruin that but mocks
The pleadings of persuasion's hinge.
An idle mind, companions base,
A shrinking from a duty known,
A sly deceit, a brazen face,
A lying tongue, a sullen tone,
Lead toward a wreck on Strand Despair,
And none but self can move the helm
To change the course for scenes more fair,
To save from storms that overwhelm.
[Pg 61]
INDULGENCE.
An alarm is sounding through the land
That tells of a stronger foe
Than that which marched on Lexington,
To strike a fatal blow
At the liberties our sires did claim
For themselves and all mankind,
For this foe is a product of deceit
And sophistry combined.
Its victims fall by the smiling ways
Of a charmed environment
That lures him on to neglect and sin,
And to final banishment
Of the vital spark of an earnest man,
And all that is noble and true,
To the effete round of nothingness
Which honor and strength will subdue.
No Spartan Helen of beauty and fame,
No mermaid with winsome face,
No Siren that sings an alluring song,
No Pandora in her grace,
Can soothe and charm to destruction's retreat,
STRAND DESPAIR. 31
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Like the foe that robs of power
To meet the needs of life's true aim,
The requirements of each hour.
[Pg 62]
It has filled our courts, our prisons, our jails,
And filled our almshouses, too,
Itself and distress walk hand in hand,
No crimes but its victims will do;
Though it seems like a true and trusty friend
'Tis a tyrant in disguise,
It leads to distrust and uncertainty,
It wins no enduring prize.
In homes it leads to disorder wild,
In school, to defiance of laws,
In nations, to strife on bloody fields,
In man, to destruction's jaws;
In business its office is but to destroy,
In friendship, brings lack of respect,
In love, oft a maddened, frenzied heart
That can never endure neglect.
Parents, true kindness holds steady hand,
Judges, know justice is kind,
Teachers, remember the work for you
Is to strengthen heart and mind.
Kindness, dethroned by lack of control,
Ruins our girls and our boys,
Firmness is noble, honest, and true,
Indulgence only destroys.
[Pg 63]
INDULGENCE. 32
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
[Pg 64]
I note the various schemes and arts,
As prompted by the different hearts,
They lead to different deeds.
As deeds and hearts will correspond,
By observation it is found
There should be different meeds.
The wish made known for some will do,
And some a gentle frown would rue
And feel extremely sad;
While others need a sterner look,
A reprimand, or sharp rebuke,
And sometimes e'en the rod.
Most gladly would I hail the day
When children cheerfully obey,
(If e'er that day shall come,)
But ere that happy day I see,
A reformation there must be
In government at home.
And what is my reward for all
This watchful care and earnest toil
To train the youthful mind?
From Ignorance it draws a curse—
Though pocket hold a puny purse—
Yet one reward I find—
[Pg 65]
To see the young prepared for life
And launched upon the outward strife
Of its tempestuous sea,
And know that I have trained that mind,
With noble thought that heart refined,
Is rich reward for me.
When all life's lessons have been taught,
And my own soul with love is fraught
For earnest, striving man,
Perhaps an understanding Lord
Will proffer as a great reward,
Redemption through His plan.
THE DIFFERENCE.
I have scanned the roll of teachers,
Have noted the Aarons and Hurs
Who have stayed education's Moses,
And removed the cumbrous bars
That environed its anxious spirit,
And bowed down its life with cares.
I have counted them all over,
Have analyzed heart and brain,
Have watched them in daily labor
That I might some key obtain
To unlock the magical power,
By which some supremely reign.
I have listened with ear enraptured,
Have caught the gleam of the eye,
Have felt the glow of emotion
When bright corruscations fly
From mental touch and fervor,
That prompted others to try.
[Pg 68]
The soul knows no fire so warming,
No light so fervent and true,
As the glow of the living presence
Of one of the noble few
Who counts her pain but pleasure,
If good she may only do.
A teacher who knows her subjects
And has much of didactic art,
Will present the truths of science
THE DIFFERENCE. 35
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
That all of us are human;
If heart be true, the body frail,
And honestly he's striven,
Tho' oft a brother's plans may fail,
He ought to be forgiven.
[Pg 71]
MIND AWAKENED.
The battle is not to the mighty,
Nor the race to the fleet of foot,
The peak is not reached by bounding,
Nor the goal by a devious route;
The problems of science and culture
Have been ages upon the way;
The greatest vict'ries 'mong nations
Have not been won in a day.
'Tis the steady tramping onward
Of feet that will not turn aside
From the path they are pursuing,
That wins at the eventide.
'Tis the firm determination
Of a strong and unyielding will,
Moved on by gigantic action
Of forces that cannot be still,
That has won the greatest honors
'Mong nations whose moral power
Have lighted liberty's beacon
In despondency's darkest hour.
The mind that is sometimes darkest
When it struggles for light and power,
Breaks off the bands of thraldom
And itself like some strong tower,
Becomes the bulwark of nations
In defense of some sacred cause
That looks toward the world's advancement,
Through reign of beneficent laws.
[Pg 72]
THE OGRE.
There's an ogre abroad, boys,
There's an ogre abroad,
A three-handed monster
That makes his abode
In hamlet and city,
In country and town,
And revels in death
As he drags people down.
He's a sly old destroyer,
MIND AWAKENED. 36
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Very loth to admit
That the snares he is using
Are fraud and deceit.
He has slain and devoured
More than the sword;
By all earnest people
He is greatly abhorred,
For he leads to disease,
To sorrow and death,
As poison exhales
From his presence and breath.
He fastens himself
On bright, innocent youth,
And slyly allures him
From virtue and truth.
[Pg 73] He holds by the throat
The servants who wait
To hear his excuses;
And sad is their fate,
For insidious smile
Is his only excuse
To victims who suffer
Defeat and abuse.
So sly are his movements,
So stealthy his tread,
Like a vampire, on blood
He is frequently fed,
While his victim, unconscious,
Makes no defence;
He steals mind and honor
And good common sense.
If you meet him, my boy,
Beware of his grasp,
For his smiles are so sweet;
But on you he will clasp
The shackles he carries
Forever concealed,
And when he secures you
He seldom will yield.
He will keep you away
From duty and right,
Destroy all your honor,
Your hopes sadly blight,
With promises made
Which he cannot fulfill
[Pg 74] He robs of contentment
And shackles the will.
This monster has always
A right hand and left hand
That have powers of their own
That ought to command.
THE OGRE. 37
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
If he had only these
And used them aright,
His presence would ever
Afford us delight;
But the third hand he has
Is a very unkind hand,
For this ogre's real name
Is Little Behind Hand.
Little Behind Hand
Is tyrant indeed,
From which we would have
Mankind ever freed.
Little Behind Hand
Can seldom find work,
For he stumbles in blindness
And gropes in the dark,
He is sullen and mean,
Near-sighted and sour,
Ruin and trouble
'Bout him constantly lower.
Drive him off! Drive him off!
Ere he fasten on you
His fangs of destruction,
The pestilent dew
[Pg 75] That he breathes on his victim
To deaden the sense
Of his presence and power,
And their sad consequence.
Strike him down! Strike him down!
With strong, sturdy blow,
If you yield to him now
He will soon lay you low,
And when hand and foot
Are at his command,
You will feel he has grown
To a Big Behind Hand.
THE OGRE. 38
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
MY CHOICE.
I would rather dwell a hermit
In some silent peaceful wood,
Where no voice of human being
Ever breaks the solitude;
Where babbling brook, and minstrelsy
Of winged friends are heard
To join the sylvan choruses
Of leaves when gently stirred,
Than live in costly splendor
With a heartless, greedy throng,
Whose only thought is sordid pelf
Obtained by fraud and wrong.
I would far prefer a cavern
On some rocky sea-girt isle,
Where the constant intonations
Of the waves as they recoil
With their soughing and deep moaning
For a momentary rest,
Tell of liquid matter only
That bespeaks itself distressed,
Than to live where human bodies
Bend and writhe for freedom's air,
Till the heart breaks in deep sorrow,
And the soul sinks in despair.
[Pg 77]
I would choose a lone oasis
With one tree, one flower, one spring,
One bird of sprightly plumage
With throat attuned to sing;
One whisper of approval
From a voiceless power within;
One perfect intuition
Of freedom from all sin,
Than dwell 'mid throngs and plenty
And grovel in the filth
That oft adheres to those who claim
The boundless stores of wealth.
Some quiet nook in a valley
With a canopy of leaves,
Such as a forest Titan
In fantastic beauty weaves;
Or some vine-embowered tangle
O'ershadowing murmuring stream
Where scarce a ray of sunlight
May on its waters gleam,
Is a dwelling-place more restful
To a man by right controlled
Than the courts of kings and princes
MY CHOICE. 39
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Ablaze with filched gold.
I would not shun the haunts of men
Or bustle of the world,
Nor would I see progression's flag
Lie dormant or unfurled;
[Pg 78] If man for manhood would aspire,
And less for gold and power,
If noble thoughts and noble deeds
Employ each passing hour,
Then should the bustle be supreme,
For manhood thus would rise
Above the baser things of earth
To honors in the skies.
I am not a misanthropist,
Nor hater of just wealth,
I love the presence of mankind,
I love good-natured health,
I love a true and noble soul
In woman or in man,
I love a being who would not
Invert God's primal plan
And keep in bondage soul and mind,
Through base and false desire
To trample fellow beings down,
That he may rise still higher.
I know that hate deep in my soul
Burns with an intense flame
Toward him who scourges the oppressed,
And unjust power doth claim,
That he may gain some subtle coign
By which to overthrow
The balance Justice ever holds
Alike for friend or foe;
[Pg 79] For such can never bless mankind
By thought or word or deed;
They laugh in glee whene'er they see
Their victim writhe and bleed.
When all we teach in man is mind,
And heart has no domain,
Then fraud, deceit, and treachery
Will form a tyrant train,
For beacon light can never come
Through those who legislate
Unless good seed has been well sown
By those who educate;
But lift the soul by Sinai's laws
And by the Golden Rule,
Then legislation will have power
Through truths taught in the school.
MY CHOICE. 40
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
The world is wanting honest men
Who know and dare to do aright,
Whose honor brightens in the ken
Of Justice's ever-searching light.
[Pg 80]
A BOY.
A boy is a wonderfully curious thing,
Of all creation he deems himself King,
Yet give him for pastime a top and a string
And he is instantly spinning;
When fishes are ripe he tries them with hook,
He thinks more of them than of a new book,
And steals enough time to after them look,
Not conscious that he is sinning.
The great possibilities within his scope
Prompts to exertion, inspires him with hope,
Till with the world he is ready to cope
For the greatest laurels of honor;
Glory and fame are attractive stars
He may seek in strife, under bloody Mars,
Till Wisdom revolts at the ugly scars
Ambition has placed upon her.
Oh, active, mercurial, wonderful boy,
The world is a top and you spin it with joy,
A BOY. 42
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[Pg 84]
THE ROSE.
When dewy morn of balmy June
Awakes and blushes in the East,
When song birds pipe their sweetest tune
And Nature spreads her grandest feast,
Among the rare and fragrant plants
Whose petals most of heaven disclose,
In foremost rank—far in advance—
There stands the sprightly, smiling rose.
Its home is on the wide, wide plains,
In valleys where wild torrents foam,
In solitudes where silence reigns,
And by the cotter's humble home.
It cheers alike the rich and poor
On Alpine heights, or by the sea,
By castle wall or peasant's door—
It justly claims ubiquity.
Could blushing beauty born of heaven,
Or world-wide worship win the prize,
Could fragrance, fancy, fame, or even
The rich rays of reflected skies
Soothe sorrows sharp and scorching sting
And give the world complete repose,
THE GOLDENROD.
When August sunset's yellow blaze
Streams out o'er meadow, field and lawn,
It seeks some shrine wherein its rays
May linger till returning dawn,
And touching gently with its sheen
That graceful plumage of the sod,
Its constellated gems of green
Are changed to glorious Goldenrod.
Its home is in the sterile soil
Deserted by the rustic swain
Because it yields not for his toil
The recompense he would obtain.
By wall and ledge, and rock, and mound,
Where'er neglect and ruin reign
In greatest beauty there 'tis found,
To cheer and clothe the earth again.
Down in the soul there dwells a thought
That finds expression not in word,
That counts display and promise naught
Unless a voice divine is heard,
That speaks to cheer the desolate,
That yields a balm distilled from God;
Whose type should be the flower of State—
The sun-lit, heaven-born Goldenrod.
[Pg 87]
THE ROSE. 44
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Buttercups and daisies
Aglow in morning light,
And pendant dew-drops sparkling—
Bright diamonds of night—
Send a matin greeting
To the rising god of day,
As he warms them gently
With his golden ray.
[Pg 88]
Buttercups and daisies
Are jewels to be worn
By all sons and daughters
Of Nature, truly born;
They speak a perfect language,
They lead to the divine,
They cheer the weak and weary
They strengthen and refine.
Buttercups and daisies
May softly o'er me bloom,
When I am sweetly sleeping
Within my restful tomb,
And when by mortal beings
I may forgotten be,
The buttercups and daisies
Shall be dear friends to me.
THE DANDELION.
Meadows are dotted, far and wide,
With velvet stars that bring
A golden off'ring of delight,—
Flower-goslings of the spring.
Then gray-haired pappus, downy, soft,
Follows with pistils loose,
And the gosling of the early spring
Becomes a white-fledged goose.
Its feathers float on ev'ry breeze
That fans the verdant mead,
And children count the hours of day
By breaths that waft the seed.
Soft, silent Time that comes apace
O'er human flowers that bloom,
You quickly change youth to old age,
And lead life toward the tomb.
Bright turf-born gosling of the field,
Teach us to smile, and give
A perfume from a fragrant soul,
That on and on shall live.
[Pg 91]
TRAILING ARBUTUS.
Under the brown leaves meekly abiding,
The gem of the spring-flowers nestles away,
In copse near th' wood, where covertly hiding,
It catches the glow of Aurora's first ray.
Where moss and leaf are strewn in profusion—
A bed whereon gods might gladly repose—
Apart from the world, in rural seclusion
RYE.
When pollen-dust from fields of rye
Floats out on the dews of even,
And stars of June bedeck the sky
Of mild and cloudless heaven,
'Tis ecstasy to linger near
The odor-laden quivers,
Whose lance-like arrows then appear
To be our pleasure-givers.
TRAILING ARBUTUS. 48
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
When Luna bright is wreathed in smiles,
And breathes upon the flowers,
A billowy greenness oft beguiles
Our minds by magic powers;
For like the waves of ocean grand
When tempest winds are high,
With speed sweep by the waves on land,
In the fields of liquid rye.
Fragrant fields of beautiful June,
Whose billowy, graceful green
Is a mem'ry-gem that fades too soon
From childhood's romantic scene,
Sweet were my hours of ecstasy
When by your side I was nigh;
Joys I covet, long lost to me
That came from sweet fields of rye.
[Pg 96]
RYE. 49
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Joy boundless as the ocean,
As pure and unconfined.
Deep in the leafy forest
A thousand tones are heard,—
The laughing, dancing brooklet,
The song of bright-winged bird,
The buzz of bee on flower,
The leaf by breezes fanned,
The hum of tiny insect
Whose feeble notes command
The modulated heart-beat
To know the great decree,
That frees the mind from slavery
And sets the spirit free,
Through knowledge of those hidden things
Which God only reveals
To him who loves all nature,
And for a brother feels.
The dearest and the sweetest
Of all the charms on earth,
Are those that link our natures
To feelings that have birth
[Pg 98] When leaf and flower and fruitage
Steal our being for an hour,
And we are half unconscious
Of some mysterious power,
That leads us close to heaven,
And points to joys supreme,
Where fields and flowers and happiness
Are not an idle dream,
But a true and soothing heritage
Whose limit has no end,
Where ev'ry rock and tree and shrub
Shall prove a trusted friend.
If heaven is not shadowed
Upon our spirit mind,
Through all its gorgeous tintings
And colorings combined;
If Nature has no language
To charm the ear and eye,
And brooks and birds and forests
Afford no minstrelsy;
If waving grain and orchards,
Freighted with fragrance rare,
Draw not the spirit heavenward
And lift the soul in prayer;
Then orisons are soulless
Though voiced on bended knee,
And small must be our knowledge
Of the Great Deity.
[Pg 99]
MOUNTAIN BROOK.
Beneath the shade deep in a dell,
Where fairy spirits ever dwell,—
Away from haunts of men,
A living thing of godlike birth,
By Nature's law springs from the earth
To gladden vale and glen.
Ten thousand fairies clad in green
Enliven the sequestered scene,
With noiseless dance and mirth,
And minstrelsy of heaven conspires
With liquid laughs and wind-played lyres
To charm the scenes of earth.
The rocks and trees bedecked with moss,
The million leaves with shimmering gloss
Drink from the dancing spray,
Which rising from the dashing foam,
Seeks its bright aerial home
And greets the orb of day.
No discord here my spirit jars,
No artful smile my comfort mars,
For Nature's self is true;
Here beauty, grace, and peace conspire
To make my inmost soul desire
Some heart with kindred view.
[Pg 100]
Who dwells in such companionship,
Builds fountains whence the soul may sip
Heaven's sweetest gift to man,
Sees beauty reign as God designed,
Has purer love for all mankind,
And lives near Nature's plan.
Loved mountain brook, so pure, so true,
I'd rather spend an hour with you,
And harmonize my soul
With the sweet melodies you sing,
With all the joy your concerts bring,
That sit where flowing bowl
And jocund laugh of merry crowd
In accents wild, profane, and loud,
Break on the midnight air;
For you bring peace and joy and rest,
Refreshment for a mind distressed,
And banish grief and care.
When I shall sleep my final sleep,
Fain would I rest where you will keep
A tuneful voice for me;
Then to my spirit will be given
MOUNTAIN BROOK. 51
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
The foretaste of a promised heaven—
Nature's sweet harmony.
[Pg 101]
TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK.
Shy sylvan spirit singing so sweetly,
Dancing to measures that flow with your song
Frolic your fairy feet faultlessly, fleetly,
As down the mountain vale haste you along.
Babbling buoyantly by banks and bushes,
Laughingly onward you speed to the sea,
While from your mossy sides, joyously gushes
Fountains from Nature's bowl, healthful and free.
Naiads and Nymphs hold revels at midnight,
Dancing to music that swells from your flow;
Dryad and Faun peep out at the moonlight,
Thro' rents in green curtains that over you grow.
Here would I pour my soul out in wooing
The spirit that dwells in your charmed home;
Here would I linger gladly, if knowing
My waiting might lead it at last to come.
Let me while here with you catch the spirit
Of peace and comfort abiding in you,
Then will my Nature truly inherit
A love for the beautiful, noble, and true.
[Pg 102]
TO A MOUNTAIN BROOK. 52
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
[Pg 103]
"Now when the rain comes, my waters roar,
And my spoils are sad to see,
For the earth-vaults where I kept my store,
Hold no surplus now for me.
"Man's greed for wealth has my beauty marred
And robbed me of early joys,
But I sing again, with hope restored,
When I see the girls and boys
"Who come with their songs in merry May,
O'er valley, hill, and plain,
To plant young trees on this Arbor Day,
So in joy I smile again."
NATURE'S CHILD.
I would rather dwell with Nature
And be her favored child,
To love plant, tree, and creature
That live in forest wild;
And feel the satisfaction
That I can understand
The beauty and attraction
Of motives, noble, grand,
That fashioned for man's pleasure
This brilliant world of ours,
Than possess the jeweled treasure
Of all earth's kingly powers.
[Pg 106]
LAKE GEORGE, N. Y.
Beautiful, beautiful Horicon!
Over thy waters so blue,
Sunshine and shadow in silence flit on,
Painting fresh scenes on the ecstatic view.
Blue are the skies that kiss the green tops
Of sentinel mountains grand,
Pure are the waters descending in drops,
Or rushing in torrents from mountain to strand.
Like emerald crowns thy islands rise,
And mirrored back are doubly seen
Gray rocks of the mountains, the cloud-flecked skies,
Gorgeous adornments, and fringes of green.
Silent and wild are the fairy shores
Save song of the warbling bird,
Or the glen wherein the cataract roars,
Or the pine tree's branch by strong breezes stirred.
When sunset purples the dark ravine
And throws crimson on thy breast,
Soft-tinged are the hues that e'er lie between
Thy shores and the peaks that rise in the west.
[Pg 107]
THE THRUSH.
When on mountain road I travel,
Stained with dust and dirt and gravel,
In cool shade I sit me down;
Oft I see among the bushes
Feathered friends—shy brown thrushes,
Sweetest singers of renown.
Smooth his coat though brown and dusty,
His mellow voice is ever trusty
And clear and soft and sweet;
On the tree-top oft he's singing,
In the woods his voice is ringing
While hills his notes repeat.
I have heard him in the morning
When the sun was just adorning
Tops of tallest forest trees,
Pour his soul of song so tender,
That to God he seemed to render
Thanksgiving harmonies.
Every feather he did quiver,
As his song he would deliver
In bursts so wild and grand,
LAKE GEORGE, N. Y. 55
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
That creation's face would gladden
As the air with music laden
Seemed fraught with choral band.
[Pg 109]
Some notes that swelled his speckled breast
Were like soft zephyrs from the west
That fall on June-blown flowers;
So full, so sweet, they lull the soul,
And like a spirit voice control
My reveries for hours.
Soulful song, enwrapped in feather,
Harbinger of pleasant weather,
Sing softly unto me.
Your tuneful notes at morn and even
Are antepasts of joys in heaven
That bring felicity.
Attune your joyous song for me,
And lift my soul that it may see
The world in beauty bright;
Sing on, sing on, until the wood
Shall laugh aloud in merry mood,
And sadness take her flight!
Sweet warbling bird in brown attire,
Your notes of praise do me inspire
With love for Nature wild;
Your songs of joy so sweetly sung,
By heart and throat divinely strung,
Proclaim you Nature's child.
[Pg 110]
ROBIN REDBREAST.
Low and soft and plaintive,
Now distant and now near,
Is the voice of Robin Redbreast,
That in the tree I hear.
Sometimes 'tis but a murmur,
So gentle and so sweet,
It sounds like a dying zephyr
That echo doth repeat.
And then in bursts of music
That make the forests ring,
Comes the swelling, happy ditty
His birdship loves to sing.
And the voice is so enchanting,
So perfect and so clear,
All earth stands still to listen,
And the clouds bend low to hear.
Again he tunes his liquid note
To winds in tree-tops sighing,
THE THRUSH. 56
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Or to the sound of waters
That o'er the rocks are playing.
[Pg 111]
The sprightly, sweet ventriloquist
Deceives you as to distance,
You sometimes think him far away
Beyond alarm's resistance,
And then again, you think him near
The place you are abiding;
He's in the same place all the time,
In covert he is hiding,
And telling you in measured notes
His mate is yonder nesting,
While in the shade of leafy tree
Near by in song he's resting.
Had I so sweet a voice as his
I'd carol all day long,
Charm with my presence all mankind,
And cheer them with my song.
The woods and fields should echo far
My choicest minstrelsy,
While earth and sky would both unite
To join the revelry.
[Pg 112]
THE FARMER.
Of war and love some poets sing,
And some of fame and glory,
But few there are a tribute bring
To him whose only story
Is written on the sterile soil
With hand of honest labor,
Whose plow and hoe bespeak a toil
More grand than gory sabre.
My muse will sing of such as these,
And claim a wreath of laurel,
To crown each sturdy Hercules
Whose only wish to quarrel,
Is with the forest and the field
To make them rich and fairer,
To make old mother earth to yield
Her fruits and flowers e'en rarer.
Let merchants in the busy marts
Think farmers are mere cattle,
But they who know the farmers' hearts
And of his earnest battle
With thorns and thistles scattered wide,
Like earth's destructive Neros,
Well know they are our country's pride—
ROBIN REDBREAST. 57
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Our Nation's greatest heroes.
[Pg 113]
The lily-fingered, pale-faced men
Who live by "A Profession,"
Need not despise the farmer, when
He makes some slight digression
Upon what they call etiquette;
For in his heart he's civil;
Though rough his hand, his brow asweat,
His heart is free from evil.
He toils from early morn till night,
Yet he is "Independent;"
For Nature's God defends the right,
And holds a crown resplendent
To place upon His honored child
Whose life is heavy laden,
But keeps a spirit undefiled
To enter into Eden.
THE FARMER. 58
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
As fruit of their faithful toil.
[Pg 115]
MORNING FLOWERS.
The flowers all wash their faces fair
With the dews of the smiling morn,
Then turn to greet the god of the air
As his light in the east is born.
They call th' breeze from th' slumb'ring west
And a censer place in his hand,
Then mingle perfumes, choicest, best,
To waft o'er the festive land.
The flower of th' heart may lave in deeds
That refresh the worthy poor,
And th' soul's perfume is that which feeds
The hungry, weak, and sore.
ARTIST NATURE.
When Aurora springs from her couch of clouds
And opens the gate of a perfect day,
And her brother Sol in his daily rounds
Advances his steeds toward Polaris' ray,
Then the vernal bloom and the warbling bird
That follow his track as he speeds along,
Send their fragrance pure on the morning air,
And fill leafy groves with ecstatic song.
Oceanus lends invisible bowls,
Well filled with vapors that rise from his breast,
Eurus is summoned to waft them afar
And scatter abroad in the distant west,
Where Sol with his brush and an artist's touch,
Paints on the sky all the glories of heaven,
In colors more bright and blendings more true,
Than ever on canvas by mortal was given.
One sunset scene in Hesperian sky,
When the courts of heaven are all ablaze
With the glorious tints and pageantry
That to mortal mind so clearly portrays
The mighty power of omnipotent hand,
And the tender touch of a boundless love,
Is an omen true—infallible proof
Of a Deity who presides above.
[Pg 120]
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
MUSIC.
When musical chords are tensioned
To sentiments they should express,
And touched by a master artist
Whose deft hand gives the proper stress,
The effect is so ecstatic
When vibrations fall on the ear,
The soul stands in silent rapture,
And our being expands to hear.
At skillful touch of the master
A creation of joy is given,
That lends to the spirit pinions
To waft it away toward heaven,
While it sings to the same measure
And becomes a part of the song,
Enraptured by the magic power
Which carries it gently along.
[Pg 121]
ARTIST NATURE. 61
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O the magic power of tension
When a master hand has control!
It wins the heart's approbation
And augments the receptive soul;
'Tis a rapture born in heaven
To entrance our expectant ears,
'Tis angelic diapason
Such as harmonized once the spheres.
We each have an organ, tensioned
With a thousand strings and their keys,
All made by a Master builder
Who permits us ourselves to please;
Its wonderful combinations
Far surpass all the works of art,
'Tis the master-piece of creation—
The versatile, strange, human heart.
We have sole choice of the music
That shall sound on the tensioned strings;
We may choose if sad or joyous
Shall be the final note it sings;
Though fate may fling fiercest chaos,
Its Maker reserved to us powers
That we need not ever surrender,
For the strength to possess is ours.
[Pg 122]
Let my tongue sing songs of rapture
And my heart-strings sweetly respond,
Till the notes shall pass earth's border
And reach the bright portals beyond;
And when in the great hereafter
The tension shall be much increased,
My joys will be there augmented
To know that earth's songs have not ceased.
MUSIC. 62
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
REST.
When wearisome task is finished
And flesh with fatigue is oppressed,
When muscles are tired and languid
And sinews are sorely distressed,
No balm can renew their vigor
Like that boon from heaven called rest.
We know not its composition,
Nor can we expound all its laws,
We grant the effect is pleasant
Tho' we cannot explain the cause;
We therefore accept the blessing
And bid curiosity pause.
Foremost in its rank of agents
Is a heavenly maid called Sleep,
Who stands in unbroken silence,
And ever her watch will keep
O'er mortals whose labors and trials
Seem heavy, oppressive, and deep.
Sometimes when sorrows are deepest
This maiden refuses relief;
She's no balm for the broken-hearted,
No cure for a head bowed with grief,
No soothing touch for the anguish
That robs like a heartless thief.
[Pg 124]
She flies from deep woe and sorrow
And recedes from the blinding tear;
Yet hastes to fatigue and trials
And offers to them smiles of cheer
Such as turn to joy and gladness,
Murky doubt and foreboding fear.
When death shall release the spirit
From its prison-house of vile clay,
It will speed to an elysian
Of a cloudless, unending day,
Where with others of its kindred,
It will find a rest for aye.
REST. 63
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
SUCCESS.
Success knows no diminution,
For failure hovers so near,
That with trace of slight dilution,
Success must cease to appear.
We look in vain for a substitute
To take the place of success;
A proxy saps its vital cords,
It dies of paralysis.
Nothing can take the place of success,
Its measure must be complete,
If slightest imperfection is found
It suffers a deadly defeat.
The marge that divides sturdy success
From failure grim and gaunt,
Is invisible space, but separates
Abundance from woe and want.
Like pack of wolves on army's trail,
Fell failure lives on distress,
Devouring with greed th' foul refuse
That falls from th' hands of success.
[Pg 126]
Success and failure closely abide—
Success has a palace fine,
While failure dwells in a dreary hut,
Like a herding place for swine.
Success may not always achieve
The object it has in view,
But lives while its motives and acts
Are earnest, noble, and true.
True failure can only be found
In a being devoid of heart,
Whose efforts and deeds are all dead,
Or act but a sluggard's part.
Success has a heart that can sing,
A hand and a spirit to try,
A word that is fraught with good cheer,
A soul that illumines the eye.
Failure is cheerless, sullen, and glum,
His hand hanging idly by,
His voice is an echo of woe,
His face distorted, awry.
[Pg 127]
SUCCESS. 64
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
FRAGMENTS.
This world was made of fragments
Each separate from the other,
Yet in such close relation
As to indicate a brother.
Each atom of the universe
Has in itself attraction,
That finds response so much allied
To voluntary action,
That one might quickly recognize
A power, supreme, benign,
That emanates from master hand
With forces so divine,
That every touch which nature gives
To matter or to mind,
Must indicate creative power
Superior to mankind.
What scientist can ever tell
The mainspring of all action,
If all his reasons fail so prove
Molecular attraction?
It has its source from out the space,
Beyond the astral heaven;
It had a purpose to perform,
Or it had not been given.
[Pg 128]
We may not know its secret laws
Or understand its source,
But faith has taught us to be wise
And recognize its force.
Of all the teeming millions now
Upon this mundane sphere,
Not one can give a reason
For his living presence here.
'Tis strange, and yet we know 'tis true,
We constantly are dying,
All things are old, nothing is new,
And life with death is vying.
We know not when this all will cease,
We cannot understand
Why matter never may increase,
Or seas become dry land.
Enough we know to serve the end
For which we were designed,
God never yet was known to send
The blind to lead the blind.
If we but act an honest part,
And use the powers given,
When from this earth we shall depart,
FRAGMENTS. 65
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We may be wise in heaven.
[Pg 129]
A BEACON LIGHT.
Adown the vistas of the past
I cast my memory's eye,
And see bright scenes receding fast,—
Some hopes in ruins lie;
Yet still there shines a beacon light
Whose ray on me descends,
And shows in its effulgency
A circle of true friends.
The magic charm this circle yields
Is richer far to me,
Than cattle in a thousand fields
Or gems from the deep sea;
It whispers softly in my ears
And cheers me on my way,
Gives faith for doubt and murky fears,
And comfort for dismay.
[Pg 130]
MEMORY.
Earthly scenes are worth preserving,
Bitter though they sometimes be;
Who would wish to sink in Lethe
All the fruits of Memory?
None could dare offend his Maker
By a wish so rash and vain;
For by this kind boon from Heaven
Life is all lived o'er again.
In the silent hour of twilight,
Thoughts of by-gone days will come,
Stealing o'er our better feelings,
Bringing back our early home;
All the soothing words of friendship
Spoken by a tongue now still,
Touch the fountains near our heart-strings,
And our eyes with moisture fill.
Tender, oh, how sweetly tender,
Are the musings of an hour,
When the mellowing scenes around us
Give to Memory magic power;
Thought recalls those scenes long parted,
Life epitomized appears,
Moments then reflect a lifetime
Reaching back through many years.
[Pg 131]
A BEACON LIGHT. 66
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Oh, how blessed are those moments!
Present scenes can never fire
Such a rapture in our bosom
As fond Memory can inspire;
Naught on earth can e'er be spoken
To attract the living ear,
Like the words of the departed
Uttered when among us here.
Time and Death have made them sacred,
Memory calls them oft to mind,
And her choicest, dearest treasures,
She for them has oft entwined;
This is but a simple homage,
Richly paying him who kneels;
He who's prompted by such feelings,
For his fellow being feels.
Dark must be that soul enshrouded,
Which Oblivion would prefer
To the soothing power of Memory
And the influence shed by her:
Life itself is not worth having
If deprived of such a bliss,
Earth has not another treasure
That we may compare with this.
[Pg 132]
DISCONTENT.
Let quiet people talk of peace—
Contentment of the mind,
But he who lives at perfect ease
Can never bless mankind.
If each no higher end should seek
Than that which now he fills,
But be content, subdued, and meek,
'Twould bring a thousand ills.
Advancement then would have an end.
Progression then would cease,
Invention have no earnest friend,
And science no increase.
But Discontent, though called a fiend,
Is progress in disguise,
'Tis this by which our end's attained,
'Tis this by which we rise.
The pupil may surpass the sage
If such his aim shall be,
May fathom truths for many an age
Were wrapped mystery.
[Pg 133]
MEMORY. 67
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
The genius may invent some plan
To ease the laborer's toil,
Or add facility for man
To cultivate the soil.
Contentment never did aspire
To elevate mankind,
It never raised the standard higher
Of science or of mind.
'Tis Discontent that gains the prize
In every useful art;
Although it brings us tearful eyes
And restlessness of heart;
But then it has a sweet reward—
Progression is the fruit,
But some this sweetness have abhorred
For others have the boot.
For he who blesses most mankind,
Himself is seldom blessed,
And he whose deeds should be enshrined
Will seldom be caressed.
Yet, let our banner ne'er be furled,
Our lives in quiet spent;
For 'tis a truth that all the world
Still thrives on Discontent.
[Pg 134]
OUR POLITICS.
"The purification of politics is an iridescent dream."
U. S. Senator, John J. Ingalls, Kansas.
"Purification of politics
Is an iridescent dream,"
Is the Ingalls way of saying that
Corruption's power's supreme.
Have the people lost their honesty,
Has the Nation sunk so low,
That partisan strife can blind our eyes
Till we know not friend from foe?
If such be true, this fair land of ours
Must fail to mature the Hope
That blossomed fair on Liberty's tree,
But in impotence must grope.
Beautiful land! God's own favored land!
Thy sons must united be,
Statesmen should now hold the public helm,
Throw factions into the sea,
Teach politicians with all their schemes,
The people yet are supreme;
That Augean stables—politics—
DISCONTENT. 68
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
SUNSET.
Softly the tints of expiring day
Tinge th' vaults of Hesperian heaven,
Leaving a trace of the sun's mellow ray
To escort the shadows of even.
All of the gates of Phoebus are drawn,
Yet his splendor has left to sight
A trail of enchantment to linger till dawn,
To charm the still hours of the night.
Scenes of such cloud-land often reveal
A grandeur that augments the soul;
Heaven has no beauties it seeks to conceal,
No secrets inscribed on its scroll.
Through the earth for an age we may roam,
And through space our vision may fly,
Yet no pleasure is like that at home
When we gaze on a God-painted sky.
When we think of the forces displayed
To prepare for a cloud-scene at even,
Of the elements deftly arrayed
That a gorgeous effect may be given,
[Pg 136]
Of the mists and the winds and the light,
Of the blendings that art cannot teach,
Of the mysteries hidden from sight
That our knowledge would gladly reach,
Of the order, the purpose, design,
In the pictures that hang in the sky,
We know that the hand is divine
That arranged all their brilliancy,
Then our faith lifts the curtain that hides
The Spirit that ordered the plan,
And assures us He ever abides
To encourage and elevate man.
At sunset my spirit shall sing
Of the beauties the elements yield,
Let my heart then its off'ring bring
To the Artist of sky and of field.
When my soul from its dwelling of clay,
Shall escape to that unknown sphere,
May it be at the close of the day,
When the glories of sunset appear.
Soothingly, sweetly comes unto me
The thought that my soul may rest,
In a land whose glory shall be
Like cloud-scenes that glow in the west.
OUR POLITICS. 69
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[Pg 137]
SELFISHNESS.
Who lives for self alone should be
Placed in some lonely, hollow tree,
And left to toad and bat and owl—
To creatures man considers foul—
Where he shall be perpetual prey
For frightful ogres night and day.
A narrow soul that lives for self,
Should stand on some old musty shelf,
Where spiders, rats, and vermin throng,
And listen only to the song
Of filing saw and creaky mill,
And owlet's hoot and whip-poor-will.
Who lives for self is not afraid
Of meanest thing God ever made,
For he himself is that same thing;
Though peasant, plebian, or king,
He thwarts the purpose of God's plan,
He lacks the impulse of a man.
No soul enwrapped within itself,
Or dwarfed by pride, or love of pelf,
Can serve its Maker or mankind
As nobly as was erst designed
By the Great Architect above,
Whose being is Unselfish Love.
[Pg 138]
RETROSPECTION.
I sit when the shadows are stealing
The light of departing day,
And think of the scenes and pleasures
I enjoyed in my childhood's play.
I can picture them all so plainly,
They seemed not a day gone by,
I recall the fields and garden,
The lake and the clear blue sky.
I can see the bright water flowing
At the foot of the sloping hill,
The dam that impeded its progress,
The toy-wheel of water-mill.
I can trace every line and feature
Of trees and the shadows they cast,
The lanes, the rocks, and orchards,
That on journey to school were past.
I can close my eyes for an instant
And draw a scene to my mind,
SUNSET. 70
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
That seems like a photo-engraving,
As true, as complete, as defined.
[Pg 139]
Time's flight has not dim'd or shaded
One outline the scenes gave then,
Though the years that have intervened,
Are nearly two score and ten.
There's a central, attractive figure,
With heart unselfish and warm,
That always appears in the picture—
'Tis my mother's benignant form.
I can see her in all the beauty
And glow of a mother's pride,
As she patiently watched and labored
For her children at her side.
How sweet to my soul is the power
To so clearly these scenes portray;
I pray that to life's latest hour
This bliss be not taken away.
[Pg 140]
ALONE.
"And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a help meet for
him."—Gen. 2, 18.
RETROSPECTION. 71
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
LOVE.
[Written after reading Shakespeare's sonnet commencing, "Love is not Love which alters when it alterations
finds."]
ALONE. 72
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
But poisonous, blasting breath,
That breathes upon its victim, draughts
Of sorrow, tears, and death.
Love that would gain a mastery
To wield for pelf or power,
Is not a love born clean and pure
O'er which no evils lower,
But like a miasmatic clime
That yields delicious fruit,
It hides the venom it distills,
And seeks its sole repute
In outward show and pageantry,
Wherein are deep concealed
The poisoned arrows plumed for death,
It would not have revealed.
Unselfish love is but a spark
Of God's own spirit dropped from Heaven,
The richest boon, the sweetest joy,
That unto mortals God hath given;
[Pg 144] Within itself it hath a power
To lift the soul on joyous wings,
Attune the heart to harmonies,
And softly touch the tensioned strings
That vibrate in such unison
With other strings so like its own,
That not a discord may be heard
In cadence, blend, or tone.
LIES.
If aught on earth my soul can fire,
'Tis the deception of a liar
Who with soft smoothness of the tongue,
Has promises and pledges strung
To suit all needs that come to hand,
To serve the purpose Satan planned.
Satan himself, I think, would shun
The presence of that artful one,
Who violates truth's sacred laws,
Regardless of the end or cause,
LOVE. 73
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
But deems it strategy to live
For the sole purpose to deceive.
If hell has any corner where
Vile culprits may be doomed to share
The merits they richly deserve,
It should be held in strict reserve
For them whose flattery and art
Are used to kill a trusting heart.
Let me abhor, loathe, and despise
The author of those fiendish lies,
Who would for pleasure, greed, or power,
The confidence of youth devour,
And blight the soul with foul distrust,
Or trample honor in the dust.
[Pg 146]
No sting of pain can e'er atone,
No purging fire was ever known
For cleansing of a heart defiled
By falsehood; though it may be styled
In diction, affability,
It poisons like the upas tree.
Beware the tongue that will deceive,
At last 'twill cause your soul to grieve
Though smooth its accents now may be,
Its motive power is treachery,
Its fruits are laden with disease,
Although its tones may often please.
Dissimulation's oily tongue
Will grace Simplicity, among
Her unsuspecting, trustful throng,
That he may do her greater wrong,
And covertly defile the pure,
Some envied purpose to secure.
[Pg 147]
HEARTSTRINGS.
The tiny trembling tendons
That twine about the heart,
Are chords that yield a music
Unknown to vocal art.
Though soft the notes are sounded,
Each vibration tells a tale
Of the mellow, winsome sunshine,
Or of fierce, destructive gale.
Though the strings be few in number,
They have compass far beyond
The myriad chords around them,
That are less delicately tuned.
LIES. 74
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
List we softly to the music
As its volumes gently roll,
Varied in their intonation
By the tension of the soul.
Ecstatic measures fill us
With a rapture so profound,
That we fancy heaven's portals
With such harmonies abound.
Each note is rich in meaning,
Each tone is full and clear
To the charming sweet delusion
Of imagination's ear.
[Pg 148]
If you would hear this music
And be charmed by its tone,
Attune your heart to harmony,
For the music is its own.
No lessons conned in schooldays,
No studied forms of art,
Can profit us so greatly
As communion with our heart.
It will sing us songs of rapture,
Though silent each may be;
It will help to solve the questions
Of life's great mystery.
If one would hear sweet harmony
He carefully must live;
For these songs will be an echo
Of the keynote he shall give.
If heartstrings be but tuned aright
Sweet melodies we hear;
If strung with envy and deceit,
The tone is doleful, drear.
Then let us tune our hearts with joy,
And touch the strings with glee,
For honor, truth, and purity,
Will bring soul-ecstasy.
[Pg 149]
WHO KNOWS?
It matters not what be our lot
Upon this mundane sphere,
In spite of fears and burning tears
While we shall linger here,
We must depend on foe or friend
For many things we need
To give the soul that full control
Which makes it strong indeed.
HEARTSTRINGS. 75
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
For noble end, make him a friend
Who can reciprocate,
A kindly act, not to it tacked
The proof of reprobate.
God only knows whom we may choose
And safely trust as brother,
The seeming saint may have a taint
That proves him quite another.
In human dust we scarcely trust
The egotistic pious,
Who thinks that he from sin is free—
Not subject to its bias;
A holy man does all he can
For God and human kind;
He meekly lives, but counsel gives
In language pure, refined.
[Pg 150]
TWILIGHT HOUR.
[Set to Music by Com. T. C. Adams.]
WHO KNOWS? 76
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
And I shall find abiding home.
Oh, twilight hour, how sweet thou art!
Thy coming oft relieves my pain,
Thy soft communings with my heart
Prepare me for life's toils again;
Drive thou away my sordid thought,
And give my soul augmented power;
Teach me to use thee as I ought,
Thou holy, blessed twilight hour.
THE HAIR.
Since the days of primal story
Of Eden's happy pair,
A woman's greatest glory
Is her glossy flowing hair;
It is a safe criterion
By which to judge her life,
To ascertain, if duly won,
She'd prove a worthy wife.
Its color and arrangement,
Its sunshine and its storm
Prefigure an estrangement,
Or friendship true and warm.
We dearly love the sunshine
Of locks with golden hue,
That bear this blessed combine—
Kind, tender, warm, and true.
We read volumes of character
In every lock of hair;
The life, the mind, the heart's prefer
Are plainly written there;
No printed index could portray
The soul's environment,
So plainly and so perfectly
As capillary bent.
[Pg 153]
Beware the frouzy, unkempt lock
That speaks of negligence;
Regard cosmetic's fancy stock
TWILIGHT HOUR. 77
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Of little consequence;
Trust only such as speak of taste
Born of a cultured mind,
Whose purposes are pure and chaste
Whose structure, soft, refined.
LIBERTY.
Into the port where Liberty stands
Inviting the nations to woo her,
Malefactors swarm from foreign lands,
Whose tenets would surely undo her.
Criminals, paupers, the ostracised
From all countries beyond the great sea,
Flock into the land our fathers prized,
And baptized "The Sweet Land of the Free."
They come not to build a hearth and home,
Or to clear and improve our rich soil,
But prowl like wolves that in forest roam,
And prey on fruits of our honest toil.
Long were our shores a refuge secure,
For the honest, the brave, and the true;
With valor and pride, men would endure
The trials that for State might accrue.
Men there are yet, who come to our shore,
In honor high, of great moral powers,
Whose hands give strength to homes we adore,
And whose hearts are as loyal as ours.
[Pg 155]
For these there is room and welcome, too,
For there's land quite enough and to spare,
But we pray that all the vicious crew
To their homes o'er the sea may repair.
Shall we quarantine disease and death,
Whose subtle infections float in the air,
And grant free power to the pois'nous breath
That would strangle our Liberty fair?
Sons of the Nation, arise in might!
And then swear by the God we adore,
This vicious crowd shall be put to flight,
THE HAIR. 78
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
And forever debarred from our shore.
Freedom and Liberty need our care,
If from wounds we would e'er keep them free,
For a frenzied brain would even dare
To destroy through base treachery.
Long live the land unto freedom given,
And forever may Liberty stand,
With beacon flame from the throne of heaven,
And a symbol of Light in her hand.
When stars shall fade from the dome of heaven,
And sun shall refuse his golden light;
When noon of Time shall be changed to even,
And earth shall be lost to human sight;
[Pg 156]
When crash of worlds and revolving spheres
Shall lose in chaos, identity;
And Time shall be measured not by years,
But on shall roll through eternity;
Then Liberty's form may sink in dust;
But loyal sons shall transported be
From the mundane scenes of moth and rust,
To the perfect home of Liberty.
I ween that when such an hour as this,
Shall marshal friends who have fought and died
For the sacred cause of earthly bliss,
And Freedom's cause have so magnified,
There shall be a special crown for him
Who has stood undaunted in the fight;
But the brightest star in the diadem
Is steadfast love for the Truth and Right.
[Pg 157]
LIBERTY. 79
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
DRIFTING AWAY.
How softly, how still, are we drifting away,
On the wide Sea of Life as it beckons us on,
Though the sunshine allure us 'tis but for a day,
Then darkness comes o'er us and hopes are all gone.
We are drifting away in a bark that is frail,
On a sea sometimes rough and whose waves often moan,
Yet when all is peaceful we think not of gale,
But are drifting away in our bark all alone.
So softly we float on a smooth flowing sea,
That our helm and our anchors are cast to the shore,
We think them a burden and wish to be free,
From every encumbrance that can serve us no more.
We are drifting away with our hopes and our fears,
To an ocean of life unknown to us now;
We see a bright vision—though veiled by our tears,
It appears like refulgence to lighten the brow.
Too slowly our bark seems to drift toward the prize,
We in ecstasy wish it to speed faster on;
But while we are wishing, a mist dims our eyes,
And lo! that bright vision has vanished and gone.
[Pg 159]
A gloom of thick darkness now spreads like a pall,
The winds of the tempest arise in their force,
And amid their wild shriekings for succor we call
On Him who reigns o'er us, to mark out our course.
We plead for protection from ruin and pain,
Repiningly think of our anchor and helm,
And could we secure those lost prizes again,
No tempest could shake us, no wave could o'erwhelm.
But swiftly we're drifting, we cannot tell where,
The current moves onward regardless of gloom,
We raise our weak voices and utter a prayer
That God in His mercy is drifting us home.
[Pg 160]
KINDRED SPIRITS.
Oh, give me some heart of a kindred spirit
That smiles when I smile, or that weeps when I weep,
Whose solace is greater by far to inherit
Than the wealth of the mines or the gems of the deep.
Some heart that will echo response to my feeling,
That thrills with delight when I speak of my joy;
That sorrows with sorrow too deep for concealing,
When cankering griefs make my own heart's alloy.
Some heart that appreciates each little kindness,
That knows all my feelings, tho' oft unexpressed,
That sees not my faults with a passionate blindness,
But clings to my soul when 'tis sorely distressed.
Some heart whose affection can never be blighted,
That beats all in concert with that of my own,
That revels in pleasures with which I'm delighted,
And grieves at the sorrows which cause me to moan.
Some heart that can never be swerved from its mooring,
Though tempests may thunder and billows may roar,
That espouses my fate in spite of such roaring,
And when trials are sorest will trust even more.
[Pg 161]
My heart would exult to find such a treasure,
And return ev'ry throb in fidelity's pride,
Would suffer if need be, and call it but pleasure
To live or to die for a heart so allied.
No frown of the world could e'er cause me to tremble
While trusting my all in a heart such as this,
Too fond to deceive me; too true to dissemble—
'Twere a foretaste of Heaven, the acme of bliss.
Can it be, can it be, the world is so varied,
Human hearts never beat on chords that are even!
Is versatile man so odd, or so seared
That perfect accord is known but in Heaven!
My heart shall rejoice that some kindred vibrations
Soothe the devious marge of the pathway of fate,
And gathering strength through many privations
Shall learn in contentment to patiently wait.
DRIFTING AWAY. 81
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
SCHOOL DAYS.
Can we e'er forget our boyhood,
And the days we spent at school,
With the jolly youths and maidens
Who with pencil for a tool,
Squared the area of a circle,
And minutely did compute
The interest and discount
On a promissory note?
As we worked those "grazing" questions,
We could see the cattle eat;
See the grass grow up by inches
Beneath their cloven feet;
We could surely hear a lowing
That distinctly called our names,
Inviting us to pastures
To enjoy our childish games.
If the day were warm and pleasant,
The calling seemed more clear
Than when chilly winds were sighing,
And the clouds were dark and drear;
It was no imagination,
For a schoolboy's mind is real,
Though we heard that calling often
We answered it with zeal.
[Pg 163]
Then we worked like real bankers
And claimed "three days of grace;"
Then we figured "hare and greyhound"
In their leaping, jaunty race;
We desired an illustration
Of the problems to be solved,
As no concrete computation
From the abstract e'er evolved.
We solved the size of fishes,
When some fraction and a part
Were all the given bases
To test our "number" art,
But we never were contented
With the fishes in the book,
So we strolled off to the lakeside,
Or down the purling brook.
Then we had some given acres
In the form of perfect square,
And a fence around its border
With a circle must compare,
Which would cost the greater money
To fence it in with rails,
Or build with posts and stringers,
SCHOOL DAYS. 82
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Sawed lumber, and cut nails.
Then we worked upon that problem
Which has never yet been solved,
How to live and be contented
In the scenes life has evolved,
[Pg 164] Though in every operation
Much must be inferred,
We will find this root's extraction
Will often prove a surd.
As life's day of sunshine lingers,
Ere the darkness draws apace,
'Tis a blessed satisfaction
To look backward o'er the race,
And feel that in the running,
Our best was ever done,
And know that at the ending,
Some trophy must be won.
Though the eye may lose its clearness
And the touch may lose its thrill,
Though the senses fail to gather
All the promptings of the will,
May the mind retain its power
To recall the days of yore,
Till the spirit casts its anchor
On that far-off unseen shore.
When on that shore safe landed,
It seems to be quite plain
That the greatest satisfaction
Will be to think of youth again;
There must be a great transition
From this mundane sphere below,
If the thoughts of early boyhood
May not set all heaven aglow.
[Pg 165]
PERHAPS.
Perhaps had I chosen some other profession
Than that of moulding the human mind,
I might have secured a greater possession
Of lucre and treasures and powers combined,
Than all I may now of these truly own;
But I have in my casket some jewels I treasure
Far more than all stocks and houses and lands,
In gold and silver their worth has no measure,
For none may compute warm hearts and true hands,
When the shadows of years are over us thrown.
PERHAPS. 83
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
IMPORTANT MOMENTS.
There are times when the fate of nations
May hang on a moment's call;
When spheres in their mute rotations
May swing on a hinge so small,
That the breath of a spirit's pinion
Might unpoise a balanced world,
And lost to law's dominion
Through endless space be hurled.
There are times when the herdsman's calling
May vibrate thro' alpine ranch
Till the pendent drop, by its falling,
Sweeps down in an avalanche,
Till the mountain trembles and totters
'Neath the mighty force of snow,
And the lives and homes of the cotters
Are lost in the vale below.
There are times when the mind's inaction
Has robbed the soul of power,
When moments of deep reflection
Arrive at so late an hour
[Pg 167] That they lose the force of their mission
In the laggard way they come,
And like withered buds of fruition,
Are lifeless, powerless, dumb.
There are words that have been spoken
That have echoed on thro' years;
Though the vessel has been broken
That voiced them to our ears,
Yet they come with increased ardor
As the years are passing by,
Since the soul stood on the border
Of vast eternity.
There are scenes that ever mirror
Their forms in thought divine,
That with lapse of time grow dearer
Till we hold them as some shrine,
Wherein are kept the treasures
Of Faith and Trust and Love—
A trio fraught with pleasures
Drawn from the realms above.
IMPORTANT MOMENTS. 84
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
There are hours upon whose decision
The fate of a soul may be;
Though clouds may obscure the vision
And we pray for a light to see
The way that shall lead to heaven,
And keep our pathway bright,
We can use but the knowledge given
And walk in our purest light.
[Pg 168]
Let us scan each hour's requisition
And answer every demand,
Knowing that want of decision
Is a foe we cannot withstand;
If we shrink from performing our duty,
Or tardily fashion our thought,
Life loses its charm and its beauty
And existence profits us naught.
THE FUTURE.
I know not what the future
May have in store for me,
I only know that God is God
And He may trusted be.
The past with all its pleasure
And all its sorrow too,
Has been but a probation
To prove me false or true.
If in my earthly mission
No progress has been made
Toward a higher spirit—
No growth of soul displayed—
Then dark, sad, and foreboding
The future must appear,
The soul must shrink in terror
When death's hour draweth near.
If in the past no brother
Has felt my outstretched hand,
To aid him on his pilgrimage
Toward a better land,
[Pg 171]
No word of mine brought solace
To a weary careworn soul;
No hand of mine has pointed
To the Christian's heavenly goal;
No thought, or word, or action
To lead to better life;
No balm to heal deep anguish;
No anodyne for strife;
Then shall I hear the sentence,
"You did it not to me,"
Come from the sacred Teacher
Who taught in Gallilee.
If I have wronged my brother,
In action or in thought;
Have forced him into sorrow,
Or counted him as naught,
Have borne false witness of him
Or robbed him of his peace;
Unjustly taken from him
Or hindered his increase,
The words of condemnation,
"You did it unto me,"
Will fill my soul with terror,
Distress, and misery.
THE FUTURE. 86
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[Pg 172]
My soul has wronged no being
Of just and honest part;
But on this sole reliance
It would not dare depart.
Not in its own weak merit,
Not in itself alone,
But in the great redemption
Of Him who did atone
For man, and bid him enter,
The gates of joy and rest,
Through faith, and prayer, and penitence,
Upon a Savior's breast.
I shrink not at the future
Whatever it may be,
But joy in full assurance
Of faith's expectancy.
BODING SNOW.
The sky that was blue and sunny,
Has changed to a granite gray,
The sun that was soft and cheery,
Refuses it mellow ray;
On the distant tree-top, cawing,
Sits a solitary crow;
These and the shivering children
Betoken the coming snow.
Soon the flakes will be falling,
Like down from an angel's wing,
That is sent from the starry regions
For Nature's covering;
The trees, the plants, the grasses,
With rev'rence bow their heads,
For the pure and fleecy mantle
That God above them spreads.
[Pg 175]
AN OPEN BOOK.
How strange are the stories we sometimes read
In faces we meet by the way,
They unconsciously tell of motive or deed
That the tongue would refuse to betray.
Each lineament is a page set apart
To be studied and understood
By the shade that reflects the mind and heart,
In their varied forms and mood.
The eye oft reflects the secrets of soul
That are occult to all beside,
And form of the mouth defying control
Betrays what the heart fain would hide.
The quivering chin and tear-bedewed eye
That respond to a kindred word
That unconsciously fell from a tongue passing by,
Oft betrays how th' heart has been stirred.
BODING SNOW. 88
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
There are fountains so deep in some human lives
That from them no draught can be drawn,
Save the perfect mirage the face ever gives
Of the soul when reflections dawn.
[Pg 176]
How varied the pages we daily read—
Some are joyous and full of glee,
While others may tell of brave hearts that bleed,
And then break in deep misery.
The facial page to me hath a charm
That no printed book can impart,
'Tis no fancied tale, 'tis no false alarm,
But stern truths from the human heart.
Pencils write plainly each act, on the face,
Each motive indulged is seen there,
No after decision can fully erase
The masks faces ever must wear.
If the face would be fair and bright and young,
Wear a charming, a joyous hue,
To truth and to right heart-strings must be strung,
Every thought, every act must be true.
Let the pencil of truth inscribe on the face,
Let honor illumine the eye,
Let generous thoughts and acts ever grace
The face-page the world shall descry.
[Pg 177]
AN OPEN BOOK. 89
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Alike for foe, or trusted friend,
The rights on which morals depend,
Is character I much adore.
[Pg 178]
A man who rises by his worth
And not through fortune-favored birth,
Who owns himself, though all the earth
May bribes around him pour,
Who wears distinction's jeweled crown,
But not from trampling others down,
Or acts that cause Justice to frown,
Is character I much adore.
The teacher who sees soul and mind
In pleasing harmony combined
Within the clay to be refined,
And scans it o'er and o'er,
That through instruction, skill, and love,
It may expand and so improve,
To honor earth and heaven above,
Is character I much adore.
The man of God who feels no loss
To bear the burden of the cross
Though waves of fury round him toss,
That sometimes hide the shore;
Who guides alike the rich and poor
Toward Him who said, "I am the Door,"
And bids them come though sick and sore,
Is character I much adore.
The man who fills a humble lot
As best he can, and murmurs not
At what he has, or has not got,
But uses all his power
[Pg 179] To elevate his work and life,
And knows no mean ignoble strife,
With which the world is too much rife,
Is character I much adore.
A faithful wife bent low in prayer
O'er suffering one in wild despair,
While tender hands relief prepare
Upon th' uncovered floor
Of him who cursed her life by drink
And caused her trusting heart to sink
Upon Despair's cold, cheerless brink,
Is character I much adore.
ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE.
I stood upon the slender link
That joins two cities into one,
And saw from thence the storm-clouds drink
Their moisture from the sun.
I watched their lowering, frowning edge,
Girt round with silver band,
Saw castles tall and towering ledge
Assume their forms so grand.
I saw the marshalled hosts of heaven
Join for the mighty fray,
Their ranks by tempest-winds were driven
Along their dark highway.
High in the heavens the giant forms
Of chariots, horsemen, towers stand,
Whose home is ever 'mid the storms—
When chaos reigns, most grand.
ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE. 92
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
I saw the fragments of the cloud
Join with the nucleus form,
Cirrus to Nimbus quickly bowed—
Sure harbinger of storm.
[Pg 184]
These were but outward signs I saw,
Portending danger, strife, and fear,
Yet still I knew by Nature's law,
Beyond the clouds, 'twas clear.
In spite of cloud and storm and strife,
Of tempests wild, severe,
There's sunshine in our daily life,
If one true heart is near.
No battle vanquishes the true,
E'en thought of death is sweet
To him whose soul would e'er subdue
The scorpion-sting—deceit.
One trusting, true, and tender heart
Can cure a thousand ills,
Extract the poison from the dart
Of malice e'er it kills.
Oh, marshalled hosts of warring clouds!
Teach me this truth to know,
There's light beyond, though trouble shrouds
The valley here below.
[Pg 185]
MY MOTHER'S LOVE.
Nine months after writing this poem, my mother died, Dec. 21st, 1894.
MY MOTHER'S LOVE. 97
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
MY BROTHER'S BIRTHDAY.
Fifty-eight to-day, fifty-eight to-day!
How years of your life have sped away,
And left in the brown of the dying year
A quiet content, devoid of fear
At the onward march of Time's noiseless feet,
Which ever advance, but ne'er retreat,
As they bear you on to that silent shore,
From which earth's mortals return no more.
With the night of time come the sunset cares,
The faltering step, the snowy hairs,
The tottering frame, and the stifled breath,
Sure harbingers of approaching death,
That bring with their train a tranquil repose
Unknown to the tears and sighs and woes
That belong to scenes of an active life,
Whose atmosphere breathes of toil and strife.
As glorious day dies out in the west
And sinks in crimson splendor to rest,
While the stars of heaven come one by one
With reflected light from th' sinking sun,
So may life with you in its late decline,
Leave a trail of light that yet may shine
To illumine the path that others tread,
And cheer the way of the vanquished.
[Pg 197]
Darling of my bosom,
Pride of my loving heart,
Hopes were sorely shattered
When I saw your life depart;
In you I saw my future,
Cheered by your smile and voice,
Sorrow ceased its frowning,
My spirit would rejoice.
Life was made much brighter
By your presence sweet;
At your cheery coming
Heart-shadows would retreat;
Soulful songs with meanings
Beyond your years were sung;
To chords of sweetest rapture
Your heart-strings e'er were strung.
From out the realms of heav'n
Still you speak to me,
MY BROTHER'S BIRTHDAY. 99
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
THE VOICE.
To me comes a voice that none other
Hath power to hear or to know,
Its cadence so sweet and consoling
Is a whisper so gentle and low,
That the flight of an angel might covet
The silence it bears in its tone;
It speaks to me often, to comfort
My heart when I sit all alone.
I oft close my eyes at the twilight
And that voice comes floating to me
Like the song of some fairy creature
That dwells in a pearl-lighted sea;
When the shades of midnight infold me
That voice lulls me gently to rest,
And tells me the time is not distant
When my spirit shall dwell as its guest.
When shadows of night are departing
And smiling Aurora appears,
That voice of sweet invitation
Falls soothingly into my ears;
A form that I fondly cherish
Like a vision of beauty I see,
That comes on an angelic mission
With counsel and solace for me.
[Pg 199]
How sweet is the voice that is calling—
Is calling in rapture to me
And leading me close to the border
Where into its home I can see!
It tells me the land is not distant,
That soon when my boat I must launch,
I shall know the voice that is calling,
Is the voice my lost darling Blanche.
A PICTURE.
I sat by the farm-house window
When the winter's sun was low,
And looked on the clear horizon
O'er fields white-crested with snow.
A tree with its arms outstretching,
Was limned on the distant sky,
And my fancy saw a picture
Such as gold can never buy.
Perhaps to no other vision
Could the scene be just the same,
For blendings in the picture
Had on me a special claim.
My mother oft had looked upon
That fair picture in the west,
While sitting in that self-same chair,
Ere she laid her down to rest.
This gave a charm to the picture
Of especial power to me,
And my vision saw a painting
That none else on earth could see.
[Pg 201]
I can close my eyes at twilight
Though now many miles away,
And see that lovely horizon
At close of expiring day.
I can see the true formation
Of each rock and tree and field,
In a perfect panorama
That time has not yet concealed.
It is not an idle fancy
For me now to paint the scene,
Since my mother's form has faded
From the place where she has been.
I know it affords me comfort
To recall from day to day,
That scene from the farm-house window,
A PICTURE. 102
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
For mind and soul form the great power
By which we act and live.
[Pg 204]
The wealth that dignifies mankind
Is not in bonds and stocks,
But in rich thoughts, noble, refined,
Needing no bars nor locks.
When man for manhood more shall strive,
And less for greed and gain,
The humble poor may nobly live,
And feel not hunger's pain.
These walls are sacred unto me,
For thought here learned to soar
And build the ark of liberty
I love, exalt, adore.
NATURE'S VOICE.
Every tree and plant, every tiny flower
That grows in wood or field,
Hath a voice that calls aloud to me,
And a beauty half concealed,
That draw my ears to hear a strain
Of music sweet and low,
And paint for me far richer hues
Than the sunset's evening glow;
They speak to me as no tongue can speak;
Their voices are sweeter far
Than the tones that fall from human lips,
Or strains of sweet music are.
[Pg 205]
POUNDRIDGE, N. Y.
Perhaps no spot upon this sphere,
Has charms for me more sacred, dear,
Than those of old Poundridge;
I love her hills, her lakes, her streams,
Her rural haunts, where Nature teems
With joys naught can abridge.
Her dew-bespangled meadows shine
With gems of radiance so divine,
When touched by matin sun,
That myriad pendant drops of dew,
Lend to the mead a brilliant hue
Like earth with diamonds strown.
The woods that sleep on distant hills,
Or watch o'er gently murmuring rills,
Seem restful to the soul;
Their silence brings sweetest repose,
POUNDRIDGE, N. Y. 104
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
TIM.
We remember well when a schoolboy,
When pliant in mind and limb,
We had for a boon companion,
A bright youth whose name was Tim.
He was sturdy, strong, and honest,
In body and mind he had vim,
So we learned by intuition,
To place much reliance on Tim.
We fished and hunted together,
In summer, the lakes we would swim,
Skated their surface in winter,
With mercurial, wonderful Tim.
Our tasks at school were a union,
And when thoughts were distant or dim,
A light illumined the pages,
That seemed a reflection from Tim.
Reciprocal visits were often,
He slept with me, I slept with him,
Talked till near dawn of daylight,
With fluent and scholarly Tim.
[Pg 209]
Decades have passed since that season,
My hair is reduced to a rim,
But my heart beats as warm as ever,
For that friend of my youth, named Tim.
As years fleet away, we treasure
The power of our mind to skim
O'er the scenes of early doings,
With valiant and trustworthy Tim.
A third of a century over,
Still a friend have we now like him,
Exact in his every bearing,
And his name is—unchanged—Tim.
We wonder if in the hereafter,
When we range with the Seraphim,
Happiness will be augmented
By the kindly presence of Tim.
We trust an expanded mission
Will fill us with joy to the brim,
TIM. 105
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
FACES WE READ.
One may read from the face at leisure,
From the leaf that reflects the soul,
The thought, the desire, and the measure
That imprint on the facial scroll
The innermost mind and its actions,
The heart with its strongest desires,
The passions, impulses, and factions
Which animate clay oft inspires.
Ev'ry line of th' face has a father
Whose hand has engraven it there,
But shades of the spirit are rather
Betrayed in the hue of the hair;
The pencils of thought, true to nature,
Have written their records so plain,
That a skillful eye reads each feature
That dwells in the heart and the brain.
One may peep into occult recesses
Which only the face will reveal,
May read what the tongue quite represses
But the eye cannot fully conceal,
May fathom the deepest depressions
Where the soul has buried its woe,
Where the heart would hold secret sessions
With scenes and events long ago.
[Pg 215]
The writer applying for a room at Newpoint Inn, Amityville, Long Island, was informed that the house was
full. Some friends, stopping near, kindly invited him to go with them. He accepted. After his departure he sent
the following:
AMITYVILLE.
"I was a stranger and ye took me in,
Hungry and ye fed me,"
No place for me at Newpoint Inn,
So home you kindly led me.
Some say the world is cold and sour,
Devoid of fellow-feeling,
But day by day and hour by hour,
To me comes a revealing
That warm hearts beat where'er we go,
Kind hands are gladly serving
TRUE WEALTH.
The smallest type of manhood that lives,
(If manhood it may be called,)
Is that which knows no power but wealth
That is measured in stocks and gold;
It looks in disdain on a working man
Who declines to bend his knee,
Though in honor's scales he may outweigh
The scorner, in great degree.
There's a wealth that far surpasses all
The houses and stocks and gold,
That ever was on the market placed,
To be by a hireling sold;
'Tis the wealth of manhood, noble, free,
And an independent mind
That scorns to swerve from justice and truth,
But faithfully serves mankind.
[Pg 218]
AMITYVILLE. 109
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
FIDELITY.
A Legend of Trinity Lake, Poundridge, N. Y.
The Rippowams were a tribe of Indians living along the Sound near Stamford and Norwalk, Ct., and extended
their territory for some miles northward. The Kitchewonks were a tribe living on the Hudson, near Sing Sing
and Peekskill, N. Y., and found their way eastward. In the early days of the Indian occupation of these lands
the Rippowams followed up the stream running from the three lakes—Round Pond, Middle Pond, and
Lower Pond—while the Kitchewonks followed that branch of the Croton which finds its source in
Cross Pond, now Lake Kitchewan. For the possession of these grounds there were frequent battles between
these tribes, as the lake-land abounded in fish and game. The intercourse between these tribes, both belonging
to the Mohegans, was very limited, at first, but in course of time became more frequent and friendly. A lime
and marble ridge separates Lake Kitchewan from the three lower lakes and forms a watershed between the
Hudson and the sound.
In recent years a dam was constructed by the Stamford Water Co., and the three lakes were made into one,
and very appropriately called thereafter, Trinity. The lakes are supplied almost entirely by springs, as no
streams of any size empty into them.[Pg 220]
For several years, in the spring time, a floating island appeared in Trinity, upon which vegetation grew
abundantly. This island sank upon the approach of cold weather and remained in a state of hibernation until
the spring came. Some person or persons who had no love for the romantic, curious, and beautiful, loaded it
In its departure the lake sustained the loss of an attraction which is known in but few lakes in the world.
A large rock, estimated to weigh eight or ten tons, is so nicely poised upon another rook, upon a high point
about fifty rods west of the lake, that a gentle pressure of the hand will cause it to rock perceptibly.
Directly opposite the picnic grounds are precipitous rocks, below which the waters are extremely
deep.—The Author.
FIDELITY. 111
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
This lake-land, rich in fish and game,
Was ground for strife and war and blood;
From west and south the warriors came
In battle paint and surly mood.
The Kitchewonks near northern lake
Upon the Rippowams looked down,
And hoped their power and pride to break
E'er harvest-moon had fully grown.
Almeta on the western stream
Now mourned her absent Ponomo,
For harvest-moon had sent its gleam
Across the Hudson's tidal flow,
And at its full he was to come,
And her to lake-land safely guide,
Where they should make their future home,
And she should there become his bride.
But he had with Rippowams' band,
Marched forth to meet her kinsmen dear,
And face to face they sternly stand
Prepared for battle-storm severe.
Her heart bid her to dare the shock
And seek him near the hostile camp;
Her mind her heart would basely mock,
And boding fears her ardor damp;
The bondage of her heart so great
Her coward mind could never free;
She heeds no danger, dares all fate,
And this her brief soliloquy:
[Pg 223]
"I know that tribal laws demand
My life if I should thither flee,
I must obey that great command—
God's higher law—fidelity.
No other lips my lips have pressed,
No other arms encircled me,
Since he my maiden form caressed
And each breathed vows of constancy.
For me at each returning moon
He journeyed through the forest wild,
Braved dangers that my heart hath won,
And now I must not be defiled
By any doubt or any fear
That death or suffering may bring.
I'd count such sacrifice not dear
If I must be an offering.
"What though my blood may stain the soil,
Devotion mark me for a slave
Through weary years to strive and toil,
Or fate should sink me 'neath the wave!
'Twere better far that such should be
Than I should violate my heart
FIDELITY. 112
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
And all that's sacred unto me
By acting a base traitor's part.
I must away, I must away
To meet him by the silvery lake!
'Tis crime for me to longer stay
I will not, cannot now forsake."
[Pg 224]
She speeds along the forest trail
Where warriors late in painted form,
Had marched through Kitchewan's fair vale
To meet their foes in battle-storm.
Her eyes are watchful to survey,
Her ears detect the lightest sound,
Her heart and mind to her betray
Where barriers to her flight are found.
She shuns them all by tact and skill;
Most gladly she to him will prove
The power that's in a woman's will,
The faith that's in a woman's love.
From hill and ledge she scans the ground
While dangers seem her faith to mock;
But highest point by her is found,
She stands upon the swaying rock,
Which seems unsteady 'neath her feet,
And makes her doubt if she can stand
To make inspection so complete,
She may discern Ponomo's band.
The trembling rock and trembling heart
Are firmly fixed, no power can move;
But from its crest she must depart
In search of him her heart doth love.
She stands beside the central lake
Along whose shores the war-whoop rang,
And softly for her own heart's sake,
This song of harvest-moon she sang:
[Pg 225]
"The hunter's moon now floods the night
Turns darkness into day,
The wood and lake in mellow light,
Charm grief and care away.
"The sparkling water's silvery gleam
My sorrow soothes for me,
And lifts my soul in fancy's dream
To thoughts so pure and free.
"So bright the light that fills the night,
The song-birds sweetly sing;
From tree to tree they take their flight
On swift yet noiseless wing.
"Now come, Ponomo, come to me,
I wait your coming here;
You promised 'neath this hemlock tree,
FIDELITY. 113
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
At midnight to appear.
"My heart, my life, my all is yours,
And you are all to me;
Faith trusts your promise and assures
Unchanged fidelity.
"I know your heart is warm and true,
Your love not cold or dumb,
No earthly power can it subdue;
I know that you will come."
[Pg 226]
She hears a footstep drawing near;
Her voice is mute, her song is done,
She waits, Ponomo to appear,
In shadowed silence all alone.
Beneath lugubrious hemlock shade
Her heart beats with expectancy,
And Kitchewonk's own dusky maid
Trusts Rippowam's fidelity.
He comes! She sees him near the lake;
She knows his form, his step, his voice;
No other charm for her could make
Her heart and soul so much rejoice.
They meet beside the water's edge
Where hemlock boughs in silence nod,
And there with mutual vow and pledge,
In presence of their living God,
They join the hand, the heart, the life,
While harvest-moon a witness stood,
That he the husband, she the wife,
Should share in life's vicissitude.
That sacred pledge was heard on high
And written by an angel hand,
Nor priest, nor king, nor majesty,
Could marriage rites perform more grand.
No tribal laws or priestly hand
Can rivet adverse hearts in one;
Compulsion has no iron band
So strong it may not be undone;
[Pg 227] But ties of mutual interest
That spring spontaneous from the soul,
Are never by themselves oppressed,
Their silken cords have full control.
To know, to feel, to fully share
The joys and sorrows of this life,
Unites the souls of mated pair,
And make the husband and the wife.
Ponomo and Almeta there,
Where juts of rocks 'neath hemlock boughs,
Had breathed a mutual, fervent prayer,
And each to each pledged sacred vows,
When o'er the lake the war-whoop rang,
FIDELITY. 114
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
And Kitchewonks, on every side,
Swept down with shout and yell and clang,
Upon Ponomo and his bride.
On north and south, and on the west,
No way of flight then could they take,
So from the rough rocks' rugged side
They plunged into the central lake.
A hundred arrows cleft the air,
But one alone had reached its mark.
Ponomo felt it roughly tear
Its way into his faithful heart.
He shrieked and sank beneath the wave,
Almeta followed after him;
Their bridal couch was watery grave,
The war-whoop was their requiem.
[Pg 228]
The savage yell of victory
Re-echoed then from shore to shore,
While every rock and every tree
Seemed deeply tinged with human gore,
For when the moon from heavenly throne
Looked down and saw the ghastly deed,
It veiled itself and feebly shone,
As if in agony to plead
That human souls might ever know
That God himself cannot approve
The hand that strikes avenging blow,
The soul devoid fraternal love.
'Neath crystal waters of the lake,
In silent, undisturbed repose,
Where sounds of strife no slumbers break,
Heedless alike of friends and foes,
They slept the long, long sleep of death,
Through centuries of rolling years,
While o'er their forms the zephyrs' breath
In playful eddyings oft appears.
Their race has faded from the shore
And left few traces that they were;
The war-whoop now resounds no more,
They bowed before White Conqueror.
Full many a fathom 'neath the wave,
Their forms have mouldered side by side,
While shadowy hemlocks fringe the grave
Of dark Ponomo and his bride.
[Pg 229]
The waters then were deeper made
Which gave their spirits much unrest,
The lake their agony betrayed
And seemed on every side distressed.
One spring when Nature gaily dressed
With charms that could the mind beguile,
FIDELITY. 115
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
There rose upon the lake's fair breast
A hibernating, floating isle.
Devoid of life it seemed at first,
Chaotic, dull, with beauty none,
But rays of sunshine on it burst
And changed it to a paragon.
Two alders sprang from near its edge
And twined in close embrace,
While ferns and grass gave certain pledge
That Time should give it smiling face.
But when the frosts of autumn fell
It sank from sight, perchance to rest;
No searching mind could ever tell
The secret of its rising crest.
For years, at each returning spring,
The isle would rise from 'neath the wave,
As if to memory to bring
Ponomo and Almeta's grave.
But when the harvest-moon shone bright,
It meekly sank; as years before
When on that dread, but fatal night,
The faithful sank by rock-bound shore.
[Pg 230]
Its verdure grew, its alders spread,
Its fame extended many a mile,
'Twas type of resurrected dead—
This hibernating, floating isle.
But vandal hands destroyed the prize
And sank it 'neath a weight of stones,
While Almeta sends forth her sighs,
And Ponomo emits his groans.
Here let them rest, if rest they may,
Amid the beauteous scenes around,
And wait in peace the final day,
When at the angel's trumpet sound,
The water shall give up its prey,
The earth shall full surrender make,
For heaven has not a type to-day,
More perfect than this sky-blue lake.
[Pg 231]
FINIS.
After our labor is finished,
After the struggle is done,
A restful surcease awaits us
At the setting of life's sun.
If when our toil seemed the sorest
The heart refused to retreat
From a grand and noble purpose,
FINIS. 116
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Profession and other Poems, by Jared Barhite
Till the vic'try was complete,
Then shall joyous crown await us,
Resplendent with jewels rare,
And a radiance of honor
The face shall benignly wear;
Not that our works were all faultless
And free from error and wrong,
But because our sincere purpose
Made us brave and true and strong.
Results of labor thus rendered,
Are safely trusted to Heaven,
For He who knows ev'ry motive,
Understands why we have striven.
If to man were given the balance
To adjust with equity,
His weakness and imperfection,
His greed and his jealousy,
[Pg 232] Might sway the poise from adjustment,
And his judgment go astray,
Through the frailties of his nature—
Imperfect humanity
The Infallible in knowledge,
Whose true balance never swerves,
Knows every man's Gethsemane,
And the merit he deserves.
He will not ask figs of the thorns;
Of talents will not demand
A greater increase than is just
From a faithful steward's hand.
Feeling the weight of the mission
Incumbent upon our care;
Searching the heart's deep recesses
That vice may not shelter there;
Working courageously onward
The truth and right to defend;
And asking a perfect guidance,
We calmly welcome the end.
[Pg 233]
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